Update on the monumentally fucked up situation: he didn't tell her last week. I felt like punching him in the face, and tried to shut everything down, but when I did I realised something: I never got over this man. I want to go back to 18 months ago and tell myself not to break up with him for such a fucking stupid reason. I'd forgotten how this feels. It's like there's no disconnect between me as a friend and me as a girlfriend: it's so good to feel respected for what's in my head. I really didn't know what a good thing I had until I lost it.
And yet I don't regret this. Over the last 18 months I've become so much closer to the person I want to be. Could I have done that if we'd been together. I don't know. I'm just so glad he wants me, whether it's the fucked-up, somewhat naive girl who he met on my 19th birthday, or the person I am now.
We've had one of many deep and meaningful conversations, the gist of which being that this is something and it's going to be something. Obviously I'm scared, because this is me, but I'm not going to run away. Yes, I'm committment-phobic and scared of being trapped, but I'm not going to get another chance here. If he can cope with me being scared, then I'm going to take the risk.
Of course this is the easy bit. Rebuilding all my bridges with her is going to be a bitch, and I wouldn't blame her for punching me in the face. She's so childlike and fragile at the moment: I don't want to break her. But she's told me several times drunkenly that she doesn't think they like each other: what the hell do I with that information? And it can't have been that solid if all it took was a bottle of vodka that left us sentient enough to care about contraception to get us into bed. I highly doubt I'm so amazing in the sack that I can make men forget about their girlfriends.
I just feel bad because we're such different people. She doesn't seem to know how not to be in a relationship, so she's clinging to this no matter what. If it were me, I'd dump the fucker the second I started to feel as lost as she seems to look.
Despite all this, I got 97% in my Odyssey test and two Firsts in my essays. So out of six essays this year, I've got five Firsts and I'm still waiting on the sixth. I could actually get six motherfucking Firsts this year. I so rock ^_^
We've also been picking modules for next year. I've got no choice about my dissertation and Greek Literary Texts, but that still left me with two options. I knew I'd be doing Tiberius to Hadrian because I've wanted to do that since A-Level, and if I'm not doing Tacitus for my dissertation I might as well turn all that knowledge to something useful. It also fulfils my Latin component as well. I did sign up for History of Medicine, but the lure of Politics and Poetics with Dorrells and Fearn was too strong, and I switched. Plus, I get to do it in Latin and Greek. I am literally so happy about that. Ignore the fact that the boything will be doing most of the Greek for me, I'm still happy about it.
There are so many things around me which signify contentment. Hole gig tonight, most of a bottle of tequila left, Latin and Greek dictionaries, being curled up under boyface's blanket, homemade curry...
I feel like a bitch, but I'm happy at the moment.
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Sunday, 2 May 2010
and i will dig my own grave...
4:48am:
He's telling her now. In the room down the corridor, they are talking about how he and I fucked when she went back home overnight. She almost caught us at it tonight: we had enough time for me to get my shirt on, and then he opened the door to see her, makeup running, asking about nothing. She looked like a tiny child. I think I've just broken someone.
What makes me so disappointed in myself is that nothing good can come of this. It's not like we can salvage anything from the wreckage here: it's going to annihilate this household, and there's no way we can start anything in the same house as her. We should have stopped ourselves, we should have tried to think beyond ourselves. But I know we wouldn't have stopped until we were caught anyway.
It was entirely free of recrimination the first time. Okay, we were drunk, but the morning after we woke up wanting to fuck. And that was sin, because we had no excuses anymore. And then all those nights I've waited up for him, so we could watch something together or fight or talk or do anything that gives us an excuse to get close to one another and breathe out desire. But there was never guilt until I thought about her.
On Thursday, she got drunk. Very drunk. She kissed me, she cried about her family life, she cried about the fact she doesn't think he likes her or she likes him, she cried about the fact she still thinks I hate her for going out with my ex. It was so painful: she was begging me not to hate her in the morning, and now I want to do the same thing. And after she told me all that, after she was asleep, I went downstairs and made out with her boyfriend.
I am such a rat it's not even true.
All I've done with this is scorch a lot of bridges. All I've done is kill my name and everything associated with it. I'm not going to pretend that she was my best friend, but she was a laugh, she and I went girly shopping and laughed together, we drank sloe gin and lemonade and ordered pizza a gazillion times together. And I didn't know, I swear to god, I didn't know that this was under the surface. I thought I'd killed my affection for him long ago, but somehow neither of us escaped. It was subliminated, not destroyed. And now it will have to be repressed again, because there's no way this can turn into anything. You can't create something new from ashes.
I never wanted to be this person.
He's telling her now. In the room down the corridor, they are talking about how he and I fucked when she went back home overnight. She almost caught us at it tonight: we had enough time for me to get my shirt on, and then he opened the door to see her, makeup running, asking about nothing. She looked like a tiny child. I think I've just broken someone.
What makes me so disappointed in myself is that nothing good can come of this. It's not like we can salvage anything from the wreckage here: it's going to annihilate this household, and there's no way we can start anything in the same house as her. We should have stopped ourselves, we should have tried to think beyond ourselves. But I know we wouldn't have stopped until we were caught anyway.
It was entirely free of recrimination the first time. Okay, we were drunk, but the morning after we woke up wanting to fuck. And that was sin, because we had no excuses anymore. And then all those nights I've waited up for him, so we could watch something together or fight or talk or do anything that gives us an excuse to get close to one another and breathe out desire. But there was never guilt until I thought about her.
On Thursday, she got drunk. Very drunk. She kissed me, she cried about her family life, she cried about the fact she doesn't think he likes her or she likes him, she cried about the fact she still thinks I hate her for going out with my ex. It was so painful: she was begging me not to hate her in the morning, and now I want to do the same thing. And after she told me all that, after she was asleep, I went downstairs and made out with her boyfriend.
I am such a rat it's not even true.
All I've done with this is scorch a lot of bridges. All I've done is kill my name and everything associated with it. I'm not going to pretend that she was my best friend, but she was a laugh, she and I went girly shopping and laughed together, we drank sloe gin and lemonade and ordered pizza a gazillion times together. And I didn't know, I swear to god, I didn't know that this was under the surface. I thought I'd killed my affection for him long ago, but somehow neither of us escaped. It was subliminated, not destroyed. And now it will have to be repressed again, because there's no way this can turn into anything. You can't create something new from ashes.
I never wanted to be this person.
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